


Fragile Things

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s something that he’s been meaning to talk to Derek for a while now. Except he can’t find the words. They’ve never really had that kind of a relationship where they’ve expressed worry for each other. So Stiles doesn’t know how well Derek would take his concern. For all he knows, and this is his best guess, Derek is going to just storm out and avoid talking about it.</p><p>So he keeps his mouth shut and pushes down hard on his worries. Except it’s getting harder and harder to keep his concern at bay when Derek seems hell bent on killing himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile Things

**Author's Note:**

> Put [this playlist on](http://8tracks.com/teary-eyed/sweet-sounds-of-the-melancholic-piano) and then read this. Seriously. [Inspired by this beautiful post](http://chaoticwaltz.tumblr.com/post/53665213434/so-do-you-think-maybe-i-mean-it-feels-like-it). Thank you to Cor for the hand holding.  
> If I remember right, I wrote this after Fireflies.

Everything seems too quiet at this hour of the night - the sound of their breathing, the towel scrubbing away blood from Derek’s skin, the water dripping down on the floor. Every sound echoes inside Stiles’ head, bouncing from one side to another as he continues with his task.  
  


Given the lateness of the hour, he ought be sleeping in his own bed. But instead here he is, sitting with Derek in his loft, trying to patch him up. And by patching him up Stiles means cleaning away all the dried blood. It’s something he’s started doing ever since the last full moon. Since Erica.  
  


Stiles swallows, forcing away the lump in his throat at the thought of the blonde werewolf. Finding out about Heather had been bad enough but then being told that Erica hadn’t made it had been… He shakes his head slightly, not willing to think about that right now. Right now, he needs to focus on Derek.  
  


Stupid, courageous, self sacrificing Derek who really is going to go and get himself killed one of these days. Way too soon given the destructive, sorrowful war path he’s been on these days. The hollow look in his eyes has grown worse since he had come back cradling Erica’s dead body in his arms. Just like his tendency to barge into any situation, guns blazing and without any real plan besides over powering their enemy.  
  


It’s something that he’s been meaning to talk to Derek for a while now. Except he can’t find the words. They’ve never really had that kind of a relationship where they’ve expressed worry for each other. So Stiles doesn’t know how well Derek would take his concern. For all he knows, and this is his best guess, Derek is going to just storm out and avoid talking about it.  
  


So he keeps his mouth shut and pushes down hard on his worries. Except it’s getting harder and harder to keep his concern at bay when Derek seems hell bent on killing himself. Stiles exhales, quiet and tired as he scrubs away a stubborn patch of blood from Derek’s arm. “You wanna tell me what happened?” He asks quietly, eyes darting up to Derek’s before looking back down.  
  


Derek’s still staring at the floor, as he has been doing since he had returned. The werewolf had staggered into the loft, walked over to his chair by the windows, sat down and then proceeded to stare a hole into the floor. Stiles had sighed, waving away Scott and Isaac before going to the kitchen to retrieve the washcloth and water bowl he had prepared earlier. He really hated being right when it came to werewolves and the supernatural.  
  


He had pulled up the second chair in front of Derek, placed the bowl on the table and begun to clean the werewolf up. He’s not sure why Derek allows this, frankly he’s grateful for the tiny show of trust so he doesn’t question it.  
  


However, something feels different about tonight. Something is quietly urging him to talk, to ask - to take advantage of this heavy calm that’s sitting between them. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re sitting in the quasi-dark, the moon being the only witness to this private act. Everything has a pale blue tint - it kind of reminds Stiles of Lothlorien. And of magic. That if he believes hard enough, he can get what he wants.  
  


Derek shrugs, shoulders rising and falling slowly in a way that says ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. Its not like he doesn’t know what happened - Scott had quickly explained why Derek looked like he’d been put through a shredding machine. He just wants Derek to talk. Stiles firmly believes that Derek needs  _some_ kind of catharsis or else he’s going to drive himself into the ground.  
  


Stiles shifts up to Derek’s neck, frowning at how much blood is splattered there. He hopes that it’s one of the alpha’s blood and not Derek’s - a fool’s hope when he see’s the blood flow. It figures that they’d play dirty and go for the jugular. It’s the thought that Derek came this close to having his throat ripped out by another werewolf that loosens Stiles’ tongue.  
  


He quietly speaks of everything and anything that comes to mind. Like tiny ripples flitting over clear water, his words float in the still air. Stiles talks about school as he works his way over Derek’s collarbone. He’s moved on to his dad and the new case he’s working on by the time he’s scrubbing away the tiny blood dots sprinkled over Derek’s cheekbones.  
  


By the time he’s gotten to Derek’s forehead, he’s got one topic on the tip of his tongue that he desperately wants to breech. It’s the worst time to bring it up, the absolute worst! And Stiles feels that this is his chance.  
  


He can’t explain why it seems right because all evidence says that it’s probably not. Derek’s a mess, worse than every before, there’s an alpha pack out there, working on God knew what and had Stiles mentioned all the freaky human sacrifices? All things considered, now was not the best time to ask Derek if they could be something more.  
  


Plus, he’s not sure how to even start on the subject matter. Yes, they’d worked together over the summer and yes, their relationship had improved leaps and bounds. But what were they? Stiles is hard pressed to find the proper label for their relationship. Frenimies? Sort of friends? Friends who kind of badly flirt sometimes?   
  


He frowns, dipping the dirty wash cloth into the bowl. Stiles tries not to linger on how dark the water has turned, nor on how dirty the cloth now is. Instead he wonders when exactly did his feelings for Derek Hale go from ‘He’s not the guy I’d want to spend time with much less trust to do anything right’ to ‘He’s not that bad of a guy all things considered’ to ‘I think I want something more with him but I don’t know what that something else’.  
  


It’s scary, like standing on the edge of a bridge without a safety net or rope in the scene. Stiles is staring down and he doesn’t know if he’s got the courage to jump. He wants to jump and step back at the same time, leaving him teetering on the edge.   
  


"You alright?" Derek’s soft question makes him jump, elbow hitting the water bowl hard enough that it sloshes some water over the table.  
  


Stiles gives Derek a mildly scathing look. He’s happy that Derek’s talking but jeez, was the surprise really necessary? It’s made his already racing heart go into overdrive! “Say what?” He asks, hurriedly moping up the spilled water before looking at Derek.  
  


There’s that tired look in Derek’s eyes again, the one that makes Stiles want to do stupid things in the hopes of making Derek smile. Or less mopey. Less mopey is an easier target to achieve than making Derek smile. “Are you alright?” Derek repeats, letting Stiles take his hand and begin scrubbing it clean. “Your heartbeat increased back then.”  
  


Evasive manoeuvres in 3, 2, 1. He peeks up at Derek, a sly up-twist to his lips. “Isn’t it a little creepy that you’re listening to my heartbeat?” Stiles expects Derek to sigh, roll his eyes and pull away muttering that Stiles is right there and it’s quiet so what else is he supposed to listen too? It’s like being outdoors and not listening to the noise around him. Then Stiles will pretend to be mad at being compared to noise and equilibrium will be restored in their world.  
  


But Derek doesn’t follow his expectations and says, in the same quiet tone. “It’s soothing.” Stiles’ hands pause, surprised at the answer. Derek doesn’t seem to notice, his fingers curling into his palm. “Gives me something to focus on.”  
  


Oh. Well. Stiles really doesn’t know what to do with that information. Other than wanting to melt in his seat that is. Their knees brush against each other as Stiles fidgets in his chair, trying not to shiver at the sensation. “Thought you said that my heartbeat’s always a little too fast?” He asks instead, gentling his motions as he gets to Derek’s knuckles.  
  


"It is. Still soothing." Derek replies.  
  


Stiles steals another peek up at Derek. He’s relieved to note that Derek no longer has the deaden look in his eyes. Now he just looks like he’s ready to sleep for a week. Stiles relates to that feeling. “No one’s ever used that word to describe me.” He can’t stop himself from joking, heart pounding so hard that it hurts.  
  


There’s a wry twist to Derek’s lips when their eyes meet. And it’s the knowledge that he’s said something that Derek finds amusing that bolster’s Stiles courage. It makes him take hold of Derek’s cold hand between both of his and ask, “Mind if I ask you something?”  
  


He waits a moment, pretending that he’s focusing on gently scrubbing out the blood that’s made its way under Derek’s fingernails. Derek says nothing but his fingers do squeeze his so Stiles takes that as permission to carry on.  
  


This is it. This is him taking a chance in the wrong-right time. It’s him realizing all over again how close they’re sitting and how easily their delicate relationship might break in the next few minutes. “So…” Stiles starts, voice wavering slightly. “Do you think…” we could be something more than what we already are?  
  


No, wait that’s a terrible start. He tries again. “Maybe…” you and I could date and see where that goes? Urgh, still bad. Nerves make his hands twist the wash cloth, forcing water to drip down Derek’s hand and onto the floor as he reaches for the words that just won’t come to him.  
  


"I mean, it feels like it but…" Stiles looks up at Derek, feels humbled and ready to take on anything because Derek is still listening and doesn’t look impatient or anything. It makes his next words tumble out, graceless and hopeful. "Do you think this could be real? You and me?"  
  


Derek’s expression grows dark again, vulnerable and guilty as he looks away. Stiles tells himself to breathe because holding his breath while waiting for an answer might just mean death through suffocation. So he takes in a deep breath, swallows hard and goes back to focusing on Derek’s hands.  
  


Maybe he ought to explain? Fill in the gaps because Stiles feels like he’s just tossed Derek in the middle of the story instead of starting from the beginning. But that means having to look up and see that look on Derek’s face again and Stiles doesn’t feel ready for it. Won’t ever feel ready for it.  
  


No one is more surprised than Stiles himself when he feels Derek’s second hand come to rest on top of his, cupping the wet washcloth and his damp hand together. “Stiles?” The gentle way in which Derek says his name makes his heart  _hurt_. Hurts just as bad like when his Dad talks about his Mom.  
  


Unable to bring himself to look up, Stiles keeps his gaze lowered as he replies back, “Hmm?”  
  


He’s surprised all over again when he sees Derek’s hand rising. Feels two of them pushing his chin up so that they’re face to face. Derek still looks tired but… There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, wan but it’s there. Stiles tries to return it, feeling so damned weak and scared and  _hopeful_ because maybe, just maybe…  
  


"Shut up." Derek chides, lips twitching up to one side. Stiles lets out an amused huff, eyes ducking down. Typical Derek. And people said that Stiles had a tendency for avoidance. Those people clearly haven’t met Derek Hale.  
  


Stiles is still smiling down at where Derek’s fingers were rubbing against his hand when he hears the older man speak. “We’re already real.” Eyes flying wide open, he stared in open mouthed shock at Derek. There’s a touch of shy hesitation in Derek’s pale eyes when he reaches out.  
  


Stiles can only stare when he feels cool fingertips tracing up his jaw. He notes that in the pale moonlight, Derek’s eyes look like molten silver. Shimmering and fathomless, they hold Stiles’ attention until those fingertips trace their way over the shell of his ear. The soft touches make his eyes flutter shut, body leaning forward in a wordless plea for more.  
  


Derek obliges by tracing Stiles’ cheekbones, teasing the edges of his eyelashes before coming down to trace his smile. “ _This_  is real.” Derek murmurs. The three words are warm against his cheek, making him realize just how close Derek is.  
  


Stiles shivers, fingers tightening around Derek’s hand before he nods and accepts whatever Derek is willing to share with him. 


End file.
